Lessons Learned in Limbo
by blowfishissweet
Summary: He wanted to be a decent godfather. He really did. Now he has a second chance.
1. Time

**A/N:** I just read the fifth book again, and for some reason I just had to write this. I've hit a snag with my other stories, which really can't be helped. Look at them. They're awful. Actually, I like them, I just don't know what to do with them at the moment. I can't stray too far from humor, unfortunately, so I don't think the emotions are going to flow well, but I'll see what I can do. Reviewing is very much appreciated. Thanks for reading!

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**Lessons Learned In Limbo**

_Chapter One - Time_

* * *

It had felt really slow falling through. Like an eternity, actually, because he had seen every single face he had ever met in the instant he fell, heard all their names in the air that whipped past his ears. 

Of course, only one mattered.

_Harry. _

He didn't know how long he was there, but he thought he had gone mad. He felt transparent and empty, but not cold as he had in Azkaban. It wasn't really a _place_, you see. He didn't know what it was, and he thought it best not to ask. In the flash of time before his demise, he had imagined Lily and James, smiling and laughing, greeting him with warm hugs and loving kisses.

Thinking this while waiting in oblivion caused something akin to a pang in Sirius's chest (if he had a chest, he wasn't sure of anything anymore). He longed for James. Lily was all well and good, but he _pined_ for James; his best friend and Harry's father.

And in his time in that place called Nowhere he realized a few of his mistakes. Not all, but a few. The agonizing absence of James Potter ignited a certainty in him that he had foolishly tried to replace his favorite cohort with his favorite's cohort's offspring, and in doing so, had neglected his duty as godfather. Maybe not completely, but a little.

At the time, he had fancied himself Harry's friend. He remembered what it was like, being a child with parents. Parents, he huffed. Always trying to mold you into little versions of themselves. Never ceasing the badgering to be better, to be smarter, and to be more grown up. No, he told himself. He had not done that.

He had tried to make Harry into a little version of James. Encouraged him without apology to take dangerous risks, to be foolish, to do what James would have to done. To act like an idiot until everything magically fell into his lap.

_Merlin_, he missed James. He loved James.

But he loved Harry, too. Harry, his foolhardy little godson who took risks not for the sake of thrills, but for the fact that he had a heart that was a little too big for his chest.

He thought that it had taken lifetimes for him to figure this out because he wasn't anywhere and time moved very slowly when there wasn't anywhere to be.

But when he hit the ground, landing in the ruin of his best friend's home, next to a plush dog that had been his baby godson's most favored toy, he realized he had no concept of time at all.

* * *

Days later and loads of miles away, Harry Potter felt empty and transparent as well. Unlike Sirius, however, he felt cold. He knew with all the conviction of a sixteen-year-old boy that he would never be happy again. It was his birthday. Today. It was his birthday.

_My birthday_, thought Harry.

"Happy birthday, Harry," chorused Ron and Hermione.

Harry stared at the table. Number 12 Grimmauld Place was the worst possible location for his sweet sixteen and everybody realized it, but there really wasn't anything they could do. It was Order headquarters and the only place they were safe, said Dumbledore, because it was always Dumbledore's say. Nobody else's. Especially not Harry-the sixteen-year-old's.

"Good job, Ickle Harrikins! You made it to sixteen," Fred Weasley beamed, clapping the younger boy on the shoulder. "George and I always knew you could do it, didn't we, George?"

George nodded from across the table. "'Course we did, Fred. Just look at him. Burstin' with vitality, that one."

Mrs. Weasley cuffed him on the head and cleared her throat. "Harry, dear, aren't you going to blow out your candles?"

"Yeah, mate. Go on," Ron urged him. "Make a wish." Ron, finding himself on the receiving end of one of Harry's biting glares, fought the urge to scoot his chair away.

"What should I wish for?" he asked in quiet voice, looking away from Ron. No one replied, afraid that he was going to explode again. Harry was like a walking time bomb these days.

"A better future?" Hermione suggested after a moment's silence.

"That's a cop out," Harry muttered. "It can't get much worse."

He knew it was a lie and they knew it was a lie, but nobody said anything. Everyone heard the telltale little _tick tick tick_ in their ears, saw the way Harry's fingers were trembling, the way his skin suddenly looked too tight. As if something were fighting its way out of the boy's body.

"Why don't you wish for a worse future, then?" Ron asked. "For that toad Umbridge, I mean," he added hastily at everyone's bemused looks. "I mean, if you can't be happy because nothing goes well for you anymore, at least be happy that it's going worse for someone you loathe."

The adults in the room opened their mouths to reprimand him, but Harry cut them off.

"Ron, that's a brilliant idea."

"I knew you'd think so."

"_Honestly_," muttered Hermione, shaking her head.

Harry closed his eyes and blew out the candles. He realized in his next intake of breath, that he didn't want to open them again because opening them would be like admitting that life was really still going on. The flames were gone now, and there would be little wisps of smoke floating up from the candle wicks, a brief afterthought of what had once been there.

"Ah, I see you've made a wish," Albus Dumbledore's wizened voice stated from across the room.

"Yes, Professor," Harry replied dully, forcing his eyes open. Dumbledore stood in the threshold of the kitchen, wearing teal robes with stars and crescent moons, a small package in his hands.

"What did you wish for, my boy?"

"A sour ending for Professor Umbridge," Harry deadpanned.

"If only you hadn't told me," Dumbledore frowned, his eyes twinkling. "It might have come true."

"Headmaster!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, obviously horrified.

"_Honestly_," Hermione said again. "It's not that I don't want that horrid old toad to have a miserable existence, Harry, but your reasoning for making that wish was just so-"

"It was Ron's reasoning," Harry reminded her. "And it was brilliant."

Ron grinned and for a moment, Harry grinned, too.

That's when Remus Lupin hastened into the room, looking as tattered and ragged as ever, his eyes expressing a tiredness they all knew too well.

"Sorry I'm late," he said apologetically.

"Have a piece of cake, Professor," Harry replied. "It's good."

Remus looked from the still whole cake to the surrounding occupants of the room to Harry.

"It hasn't been touched, Harry."

"Mrs. Weasley made it," Harry insisted. "It doesn't need trying for me to know it's good."

Mrs. Weasley beamed and kissed the top of Harry's head. "Thank you, Harry dear."

"Merlin, Harry. You sure are charming when you're grieving," Ron said, shaking his head in amazement.

"RON!" the majority of the room snapped.

"What?" Harry asked. "He's right, isn't he?"

"Sometimes," Hermione grumbled. "Other times you're a right pain in the-"

"HERMIONE!" came another cacophony of scoldings.

"What?" Hermione asked. "My statement was more true than _Ron's_._ "_

"Wasn't!" Ron protested.

"It was so, Ronald. Anyone in their right mind doesn't find Harry's frequent sulking _charming_."

"I am _not_-" Harry tried to butt in.

"I think he's ace when he's sulking," Ron shot back. "His wicked sense of humor comes shining right through."

"That's not _humor_, Ron. That's _cynicism_."

"I'm right here, you know!" Harry said loudly over their bickering. The sad part was that there had been dim murmurs of agreement at that last statement.

"Well, if that's cynicism, then Harry's jaded negativity is certainly worth a laugh!"

"Did you just quote the dictionary?" Hermione asked, stunned.

"W-what?"

"You just quoted the dictionary!"

"You what?" Fred and George asked, looking tremendously upset by this accusation.

"I didn't!" Ron said, shaking his head vehemently.

"The dictionary uses the phrase 'jaded negativity' under the term cynicism," Hermione told him. "I know this because I have the dictionary memorized up to the letter Q."

"What makes you think that _I_ read the dictionary?" Ron demanded, tucking his hair behind his bright red ears.

"Because you just _quoted_ it!"

"I did not-"

"Children, please!" Mrs. Weasley's voice broke through the argument. "Harry, dear, are you all right?"

For it was quite clear at that moment that the trivial argument had lit Harry's fuse. His fists were clenched, his teeth were gritted. He scooted his chair back and stood, ready to leave the room.

But before he could, he found a package in his hands and Albus Dumbledore's old whisper in his ear.

"Happy Birthday, Harry."

Anger surging through his veins, he savagely tore through the paper and ripped the box apart. He was further angered at the object that fell to the floor: a plush dog with faded black fur.

"What in the bloody hell do I want that for?" he spat, angry tears welling in his eyes. He tried his best to blink them away. "What are you trying to do to me?"

"I'm sorry, Harry," a familiar voice said from the hallway. "I thought you'd like it."

The room fell silent and still at once. Nobody dared to move, to talk, to blink, to _breathe_ for fear that it was all some dream, some nasty joke. But there he was, Sirius Black, emerging into the kitchen from the shadowsof the hallway, fourteen years younger than he had been when he had left them a month ago.

* * *

**TBC...**


	2. Puppy Padfoot

**Chapter Two**

**Puppy Padfoot**

* * *

His godson trembled in the dead air. Sirius wanted to rush to him, to hug him tightly to his body, to kiss his messy black head until everything was alright again, but he stood still. It was all he could do. The hush that had erupted over the kitchen was immobilizing. Nobody dared make the first move. 

He felt Dumbledore's blue eyes on him, one grey eyebrow raised, a gentle urging to get on with it. Nothing would be okay unless someone decided to speak.

"Is he a Death Eater?" Harry asked at last. Then more to himself than anyone else, "That's what this must be. A trick. A sick, nasty trick. Twisted bastard…" He looked directly at Sirius for the first time, his bright green eyes mixed with hate and longing. "What did you use? What did you find of his that you could possibly use…"

"He's not a Death Eater, Harry," Dumbledore interjected gently. "He's your godfather."

"How do you _know_?" the boy demanded hoarsely, still looking at Sirius with a slightly manic glint in his eyes. In a flash, his wand was in his hand and Sirius wondered, with his godson's wand aimed at his heart, if his entrance had been an appropriate one. It was clear that Harry needed some time to get used to the idea of his godfather being back before he was actually willing to endure his presence. Sirius felt those green eyes searching every inch of his unlined face and felt his heart drop when Harry brokenly argued, "He's too young. He's barely older than me."

"That's something I can't explain," Dumbledore admitted. "I don't think Sirius could explain it either."

"Time's been moving the wrong way since he's been gone," Harry muttered absently, his eyes flashing around the room for some sort of explanation.

Nobody seemed to have one, but Remus, his eyes focused on the plush pup still littering the ground, whispered, "That was your favorite toy."

Harry, his wand still aimed at his youthful godfather, jerked his head around to stare at his former professor. "What?"

"That dog. That was your favorite toy," Remus said quietly. "Sirius bought him for you before you were even born…you used to…to chew on his ears when you were teething."

Harry's head whipped back around to stare at Sirius, who was kneeling on the ground and collecting the toy in question. He rose slowly, well-aware of Harry's wand and Harry's anger, and pushed the stuffed animal gently into the boy's free hand.

"You used to make a 'p' noise when you wanted it," Sirius said softly as Harry absentmindedly clutched the dog to his chest. "I used to think you were trying to say Padfoot, but your Da always said I was mad. He said I was wishfully thinking, was all. 'Puh', you would say."

Nobody said anything for a long time after that. Harry's knuckles had gone white as he clung to the toy he had pleaded for as an infant. Remus was still staring at the floor where it had once been. Molly Weasley had collapsed into one of the chairs, here face blank and unreadable, but Sirius was pretty sure she was in shock. Hermione was crying, her fingers wrapped around the sleeve of Ron's shirt as he patted her shoulder numbly. Fred and George were attacking the birthday cake with forks, looking rather bored as they popped little bits of it into their mouths, waiting for something more exciting to happen. It was all very slow and they sat in the languid air, waiting and hoping for another outburst from Harry, or another intervention from Dumbledore, or even another whisper from Remus, who looked as if he didn't have anything more than a whisper left in him.

"It's me, Harry," Sirius said softly. He wanted so much to say more, to tell Harry all of the thoughts he had thought while hovering about in Nowhere. _I thought of your Dad_, he wanted to say, _and I thought of _you, _Harry. I thought of you. I thought about thrills and I thought about the war, and I thought about the fright in your eyes as you watched me fall. Then I thought about me._

But he didn't say any of this, because he didn't have the chance.

Harry walked past him, knocking him roughly in the arm as if they were feuding schoolboys.

"Harry!" Hermione choked in surprise, but Harry only turned around to look at Sirius, emerald eyes blazing.

"So what if it is you?" he asked coldly.

Then he turned on his heel and walked away without another word.

Silence. Sirius was becoming so sick of the silence and their dumbfounded stares and their gaping mouths and the tears trickling down their cheeks. He was sick of watching one of his oldest friends stare at the floor as if it was the most beautiful and complex painting ever painted and he was so sick of the way that Dumbledore failed to intervene, to explain, to break the ice.

After another minute of shuffling feet and awkward stillness, he approached the table to the sounds of many chairs scooting back and away from him, creating a clear path to the cake, a quarter of which was gone. He plopped down in Harry's empty chair and stared at the white icing.

George handed him a fork, and with his mouth full said, "Welcome back, ol' chap."

"Yeah, welcome back, mate," Fred said. "_George and I_ missed you at any rate. Things have been dead boring since you've been gone. Harry's been a right little pain the arse, sulking and wallowing about, being all woe is me."

"Yeah?" Sirius asked glumly, sticking his fork in the cake. "I've missed you lads, too. Nobody else in the room seems to want to acknowledge my presence."

George waved his hand dismissively. "Blimey, you don't need them anymore, do you? We'll be your mates. We're practically the same age now. How old are you, anyway?"

"Twenty-one, the best I can figure. I think I'm the same age I was when James and Lily…well, when Voldemort got his bum kicked by my little godson… who _hates_ me now. Did you notice?"

Fred snorted. "Kids these days, eh?"

Sirius nodded. He felt like crying into his cake.

"So, _anyway_," George said with a significant glance at Remus. "Now that you're our new best mate, you don't have to hang around here anymore with these unsavory characters. We can hide you in our shop!"

"A brilliant idea, dear brother," Fred grinned. "You won't have to see certain floor-staring werewolves ever again, Sirius. It'll be just like you've died all over again!"

Sirius suddenly found himself being roughly embraced from behind and Remus Lupin's face buried in his neck. He heard a muffled "Mr. Padfoot" and a slur of other things about friends and missing them and grief.

This pleased Sirius immensely, and he patted his old friend's graying hair and tearfully grinned.

"There, there, Mr. Moony. I'm back, I am. Can't ever get rid of me forever, can you?"

He felt his breath escape him as Hermione and Ron rushed at him from the front.

"Oh, Sirius!" Hermione sobbed. "We were so sad! And Harry…Harry just hasn't been the same and...and…"

"Oh bloody hell, 'Mione! You're crying all over him!" Ron blubbered, wiping his sticky tears on Sirius's shirt. "Give it a rest! The man's stared death in the face!"

"And it kissed me!" Sirius exclaimed, only to find that this got the waterworks of one Molly Weasley started.

"Oh, Sirius! You bloody idiot!" ("Mum swore!" Fred and George gasped, astonished). "What did you think you were doing? Getting yourself killed! Honestly! It's torn us up on the inside!" Sirius felt plump tears fall into his hair before Ron and Hermione were pushed aside and Mrs. Weasley started wiping icing away from his mouth with a napkin. "Look at you. You're so young. Younger than Bill and Charlie. And you're so handsome, dear…"

"Mum!" Ron yelped, horrified. "You're embarrassing him!" Indeed, a faint blush was creeping up Sirius Black's neck.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, dear. Sirius is just glad to home."

"Yeah, that's a flush of relief, that is," George sniggered. "Oh, lay off, Mum. Let's give the ol' boy some room."

After everyone finally managed to restrain themselves from attacking Sirius with more hugs and tears, they all sat down in the kitchen, taking deep, calming breaths to get over their crying fits. Dumbledore smiled from a chintz armchair he had conjured up during the scene, a fork delicately poised over the only slice of cake that had been cut that day.

"Why does he hate me?" Sirius asked, his eyes full of pain as he remembered Harry's cold words.

_So what if it is you?_ He had asked in a voice like ice.

"He _doesn't_!" Hermione protested.

"Yeah? He made a damn good impression of it," Sirius grumbled.

"He was just, uh…surprised?" Ron offered. "He's been acting strange lately. Really sullen. Hasn't been much fun, to be honest."

"I thought you said his jaded negativity was worth a laugh?" Hermione reminded him dryly.

"He's my best friend! I was defending him!"

"A likely story," Hermione shot back. "Ron, sometimes I don't know whether you say things because you're actually daft enough to believe they're correct or if you just like arguing with me."

"Oh, shove off-"

Sirius slapped the table, effectively ending the argument. "Can't you two pack it in just for a minute? I'm trying to understand why my godson, my Harry, who I've come back for, is acting like he _despises_ me." He drew in a shuddering breath as Ron and Hermione stared at him, startled. "Sorry. It's just he doesn't want anything to do with me and-"

"Sirius," Remus quietly interrupted him.

"Remus?"

"He took Puppy Padfoot."

(Fred snorted. "_Puppy Padfoot_?")

"So?"

"So, he could have left Puppy Padfoot. But he took him…"

Sirius suddenly looked excited. "You mean he _doesn't_ hate me?"

"Not if the conspicuous absence of Puppy Padfoot is any indication."

Sirius barked a laugh and flopped down in his chair, evidently relieved. "Thank Merlin."

* * *

Meanwhile, Harry was busy ripping his bedding apart. He couldn't really explain the rage that he was feeling, how it was shaking him and rattling his insides, how it made him want to scream. Sirius was alive and back in Grimmauld Place and he looked like little more than a boy with a long life ahead of him. He had fallen through time and death and he was back, and no one, not even Dumbledore had an explanation for how this was possible. 

With a roar of frustration, Harry robbed his mattress of its last remaining sheet and tore the sham from beneath it, leaving his bed just how he felt: barren.

Breathing heavily, the sixteen-year-old picked up the plush dog he had previously set carefully upon the floor and curled up as tightly as he could manage upon the cold-looking mattress.

It was like a dream, one of the happy ones that came so rarely. It was like sunshine and elation and feelings that could only stay until dusk set in. The kind of dream that always ended with Harry waking up with a bitter taste in his mouth.

Sirius was downstairs…

After a month of tears and despair that swelled as big as Aunt Marge, Sirius had come back. Harry didn't know what to think about this.

His godfather was _alive._

Then why was he so angry?

He didn't have much time to ponder the answer to this question, for a faint rapping on the door issued throughout the room. Harry ignored it, but it was persistent, and when he had neglected to respond for a full five minutes, he heard the door creak open.

He shut his eyes tightly, willing for whoever it was to go away.

Then he felt extra weight on the bed and tentative fingers touch his back.

_Go away_, Harry pleaded, unconsciously tightening his embrace around his stuffed dog.

The fingers crept to his hair where they gently stroked the untidy black locks, smoothing them down only for them to pop right back up again.

"Who is it?" Harry finally croaked.

Silence answered him as a gentle hand continued with its placid ministrations.

Harry waited what felt like a lifetime for a reply, but he did wait. Last year he was never patient and he could never keep his temper in check, but he waited almost thirty minutes for his godfather to respond.

"There really wasn't anything to do but think where I was."

Tears managed to squeeze out between Harry's tightly shut eyelids.

"I thought a lot of things when I died, Harry. I thought about your Dad and I thought about your Mum, but mostly I thought about you."

Harry dug his fingernails tighter into his stuffed dog's throat.

"I thought about how I couldn't get a grip on myself after Azkaban, how I couldn't sit still for very long, not even if it meant for your safety. For your happiness. Hermione and Ron told me you spent the better part of last year worrying your little head off about me. If I was being a good boy and staying at home or not. That you believed that I wouldn't. That's why you went. You couldn't trust me."

Harry trembled.

"And you hadn't a reason to. The reckless antics I fancied while you were at school. The things I said to you in the fireplace that evening, when I wanted so much to visit you, to hide out in that old cave again. I said you were less like your father than I had before thought and I said it with some disdain in my voice. I know I did and I'm so sorry for that, Harry. It was never your job to be James for me, it was my job to be James for you. To guide you and to protect you. Not to encourage you to risk your neck when you needn't to. I was a bad godfather."

"You weren't. You were always there," Harry whispered hoarsely. "Always there when I needed you."

Silence followed that protest.

Then, "Loosen your grip, kiddo. You're strangling Puppy Padfoot."

Harry decided that he had had just about enough of this conversation.

"Go away, Sirius."

The fingers didn't stray from his hair and Harry felt his stomach clench, his throat constrict. Sirius wasn't going to go away when he asked him to go away, when he wanted him to go away.

"Why, Harry?"

_His voice is so calm_, Harry thought.

Indeed, Sirius's voice was calm and Harry didn't like it one bit. Calm people were people who were too naïve to believe there wasn't a reason to panic.

"Go away," Harry repeated, his teeth gritted; and he swatted at Sirius's hand, jerking his head out of his godfather's reach for just a moment.

"Harry, its _me_."

"I bloody well know it's you, you git. Leave me alone." The tears were gone from Harry's voice, leaving nothing but the unabated rage he had been feeling all summer. He would have never spoken to Sirius like this before – never. He would have never wanted to.

Sirius stilled and drew his hand back. Harry turned his head toward him for the first time and glared into those pale eyes he'd been pining for since summer began.

"Harry…you just…you called me a git."

"Leave."

"You can't just…can you?"

"I can. I did. Go."

"But…but you call _Snivellus_ a git. Do you really want to put me and Snivellus under the same name?"

"I don't. He's a _greasy_ git. You're just a git. Damn it, _go_, Sirius."

"No, Harry! I'm not just going to go. What in Merlin's name has gotten into you?" Sirius sounded like he was getting angry now.

"Nothing," Harry snapped. "Just leave. You're going to leave eventually anyway." Sirius gaped at Harry's outburst and reached out a finger to touch the boy's cheek, but Harry jerked violently away. "You already left, in fact. And I didn't want you go THEN, did I? But you know what? YOU WENT ANYWAY. So now you can bloody well leave on my terms. GO AWAY."

There. It was out, and Harry felt slightly better. Except that Sirius didn't leave, so Harry flopped back down on his bed and curled away from him.

"I didn't exactly _want_ to die, Harry."

"You were always looking for an adventure," Harry mumbled against Puppy Padfoot's fur. "And what greater adventure is there than death? Part of me thinks you went and got yourself killed on purpose."

"You're talking rubbish and you know it."

"I don't know anything. They don't tell me anything."

Sirius groaned. "Harry…" He patted the boy's calf. "Why don't we just go downstairs and…Molly saved you a bit of your cake. Cake is good, isn't it? It's your party…everybody wants you there…and it'll be just like it was because I'm not going anywhere this time."

There was a prolonged moment in which Harry turned around and glanced up at his young godfather. "Sirius…" he said slowly. "Do you really think that a bit of cake is going to make everything all better again?"

"Well…I'd imagine so…it's Molly Weasley's cake, isn't it?"

Harry grunted. "Her cooking's been a bit dry recently. She misses Percy too much and Mr. Weasley's always at the office."

Sirius cocked his head to the side. "It tasted good to me."

"Yeah, I know. She's always brilliant at cakes. Mrs. Weasley's always good at that sort of thing."

"'That sort of thing' being…cakes?"

"And other things. Mum things, you know. Parent things…"

Harry really just wanted to get that last jab in. It eased his heavy heartto put Sirius on a bit of a guilt trip.

Sirius didn't talk for a long time after that. He just kind of sat there and refrained from touching Harry anymore. After a few minutes, Harry realized that he didn't like the awkward presence of his recently resurrected godfather very much.

"I can be good at parent things," the escaped convict said quietly.

Harry snorted. "You look like you're ten. Of course you can't be good at parent things."

"I do _not_ look like I'm ten. That, young man, was a cruel exaggeration."

A pause.

"Ten," Harry sniggered.

"I'll show you ten…"

It seemed like everything was better. There must have been rainbows outside and majestic white ponies grazing the unkempt Black Family lawn, because in that instant Harry and Sirius were truly happy to be reunited. But, of course, it could not all be good. No, for this was only the second chapter of the story.

Ron and Hermione burst through the door to find Sirius mercilessly beating Harry over the head with Puppy Padfoot.

"Quick," Hermione gasped.

"What is it?" Harry leapt up, pushing Sirius away from him.

"Someone's died."

* * *

**Author's Thoughts:**

Ooooo...who thinks that entire chapter was horrible?**:raises hand:** Oh, well.TOLD YOUI was bad at emotions, didn'tI?Funny thing: used to be very good at them before I went on anti-depressants. It just didn't flowright.Things got happy much to quickly. That why somebody had todie!Yay!

Anyway, I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed the first chapter! That includes...hmmm...let's see...**greenday409, InsPins2011, Toniboo, rockpapersirius** (excellent name, by the way), **Strega, Sexy Black, Elizabeth, Terreins-sama, paige-rossi-black**, and **Sandy**! I love you guys in the most despicable way possible - in the way that I just like you because you pay attention to my story AND go the extra mile to review it. As for those of you who read and don't review...well...that's_ acceptable_, I suppose. At least you're reading it. But do you know how much I love reviews? My arms are too short to express my love for reviews. So, um...that was my shameless plea for reviews. Even though this chapter was god-awful. Who do I even think I am? Oh well...

**Next Chapter:** Someone's dead...who is it? Fred and George teach Ron a thing or two, Ginny enters the mix, and our dear Padfoot and our beloved Moony have a talk with our sulky Harry about **life.**


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